Never Travel Alone
by Echo the Insane
Summary: The Doctor is alone after the Pond's were whisked away by the last Weeping Angel. In another time, Vincent Van Gogh is also alone; so alone he cannot bare to live another day...until he makes a startling discovery that may bring some peace not only to himself, but the Doctor as well. (Yes, I had to fix TATM; even though it was rather perfect the way it was.)
1. Chapter 1

A/N: All right, all right, I am rather new to the Who Fandom. I admit, I am completely in love with 11. He is amazing. This little story is yet another "I hate how TATM ended so Imma gonna mess with it" tale. It's in five parts. I hope I don't totally trash the awesomeness of the Doctor, so do please forgive me if I am rather stupid about it. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!

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The Doctor sat on the floor of the TARDIS, leaning against her console. His hands were flat on the glass below him, his eyes closed beneath the goggles he wore. He wore his tweed pants, and long sleeved white shirt. His jacket was laying across the rail beside him.

He no longer wore bow-ties.

There were tear marks on his face – after all, there was no one there to see his misery. In his lap was his most treasured position; a palm sized photo. In that photo, it was Christmas time. He was in front of a small, fake Christmas tree covered in plastic and glass ornaments, strewn with silver garland, topped with a silver star. But the tree wasn't what made the photo special, nor was it his own likeness.

It was the people embracing him. On one side, Rory Williams; Rory the Roman, the Last Centurion, the Man Who Waited Two Thousand Years for..._her. _ He was a lanky man, with messy brown hair and an over-large nose, with the kindest eyes the Doctor had ever seen. His smile was always a bit shy, a bit awkward, but showed the gentleness of his soul. His arm was around the Doctor's neck, the awkward smile on his lips. And on the Doctor's other side...his other side...

The Doctor opened his eyes, looked longingly down at the photo. His reached out with a trembling finger, traced the line of her smiling, innocent face. "Amelia Pond," he whispered quietly, his voice hoarse and metallic from misuse. She was so happy in this photo, her beautiful red hair framing her face. Her wide, chocolate eyes were staring up at him with mirth. She was wearing a green jumper – she always looked lovely in green – and a black skirt. "The Girl Who Waited," he said to himself, feeling the tears burn his eyes.

She had waited for him. Waited twelve long, maddening years for him to return. Then she waited more; waited for more adventures, more time to be his friend.

The Ponds. Rory the Roman and Amelia the Magnificent.

Gone. Gone for a long time now. How many months? Years? The Doctor couldn't remember. He had been alone on the TARDIS for so long now. He had tried to travel with River. Had even managed it for a few weeks before the guilt and anguish just overwhelmed him. Every time he looked at his wife, he saw them in her face. They had gone to Space Florida to try to relax, but memories of Amy; the sun in her hair, the smile on her face; had nearly driven him mad. River had gone off for ice cream and he had run to his TARDIS and had been running ever sense.

_Never travel alone, Doctor. _ Amelia had left him one final message – the Afterword in a silly detective novel River would one day write. _Never travel alone, Doctor._

He was alone. He couldn't bare the thought of another companion. Couldn't bare the thought of someone else walking through his TARDIS, couldn't bare the thought of someone else saying his name, couldn't bare the thought of becoming attached, loosing someone else.

He would travel alone. "I'm sorry, Amy," he said, lifting the photo to his face. He looked longingly at the faces of his finals friends, and kissed them both. "I'm so sorry."

He closed his eyes, and not for the first time in his eleven-hundred years, wished he would die.

His eyes stung, the familiar quick-silver flash of light burned right through his lids. He was on his feet in a heart beat, the bright white, horrible light filling the TARDIS completely. He blinked against it, raising his sonic to the center of the light.

Inside the terrible light, he could see two figures. One was moving, shifting in discomfort in the light, shielding his eyes. The other was still, one arm outstretched towards the Doctor. The light flickered slowly, suddenly dying off, leaving the Doctor blind in its wake.

He blinked the tears and after images of the light from his eyes, his sonic trembling in his hands. He could make out their shapes; it was taking far too long to rid his eyes of the light-blindness.

"Doctor?" a familiar, unexpected voice asked. "Doctor is it you?"

The Doctor rubbed his eyes with his free hand, at last banishing the last of the light. Standing there, still blinking in discomfort, looking as red-headed as he remembered was Vincent Van Gogh. But it was the creature beside him that drew the Doctor's attention, the Doctor's fury. His sonic lit up, his lips turned back in a snarl.

Beside Vincent Van Gogh was a Weeping Angel, her arm outstretched, her terrible hand pointing right at the Doctor's chest.

**Never Travel Alone**

**Chapter One**

**The Doctor's Visitors**

_1890 May 21_

_Auvers-sur-Oise, France _

Vincent Van Gogh sat at his window, staring at the finished painting before him. He stared at the colors, at the fury and beauty of them. He blinked slowly, watching them swirl and live on the canvas before him. His face was blank, lacking all emotion, save the cold tears drying on his cheeks. There was a gun in his lap, loaded and ready to end the madness that isolated him for so long.

He rose, pausing as he caught sight of it. Amy's Flowers, he called it. He walked to the painting, stared at the bright yellow sunflowers, and remembered the sweetness of her smile. He lifted his paint brush, adding one final touch to her gift. "For Amy," he said aloud, his voice hoarse from misuse.

He smiled a bit, hoping she would notice it in the future where she lived.

He walked out into the sun light, blinking it from his eyes. He let his mind play tricks, let himself imagine Amy and the Doctor at his side. He didn't want to die alone. He walked with his only two friends in the whole of the universe and time. He walked down the garden path, out into the woods. The revolver was heavy his hand, the memory of Amy's sweet voice and the Doctor's mischievous laugh warm in his ears.

He sat down in the field of wheat and sighed. He looked at the gun, imagining Amy and the Doctor running happily through the wheat around him. He lifted the gun and pressed it to his temple.

He heard it then; a soft voice sobbing in the breeze. He froze, his finger on the trigger. The voice spoke; a prayer it seemed. It spoke of loneliness – a pure loneliness Vincent was all too familiar with. It spoke of God; begging for God to send a voice, someone to speak with it. The voice broke his heart. He couldn't tell if it was male or female; it was barely a whisper carried on the wind.

His eyes burned with fresh tears. Someone else was in misery – someone else was as utterly alone as he. He rose, the gun back in his pocket. It was coming from the woods across the way. He stumbled through the wheat field, his heart pounding in his chest. Maybe he could do something good before he died. Maybe he could give someone else a friend, the way Amy and the Doctor had done for him. The voice was becoming louder, the sadness so profound it in, he felt small and stupid against it.

He came to the tree line; the voice was louder now, but still a mere whisper on the wind. He followed it over fallen trees, through glens of flowers and trees. He was in the heart of the woods, and the voice was strong now.

He would have walked right passed her if not for her voice. She was leaning against a small cliff, just below an old tree. She was covered in head to toe with vines and moss, only one beautifully sculpted hand peeking from the foliage. Vincent's breath caught – a statue? Not just a statue though. She was weeping, she was so sad.

"Hello," he said quietly.

The voice stilled. His eyes widened as he waited. The reply was soft, uncertain. "Yes, yes I am real," he replied, smiling a bit. "I can hear you, yes." He reached towards the vines, pulling them from her face.

The statue was the most beautiful, horrible thing he had ever seen. She looked like a Greek Goddess, with her hair in curls tumbling from a high bun on her head. The face was utterly perfect, trapped in an expression of utter despair and resignation. He pulled the rest of the vines away, knocking as much of the moss from her as he could. She wore a toga, wrapped in ornate ropes, with linked squared patterns on the hem of her dress. Her feet were sandalled, and behind her, still covered in moss was...

"Wings? I've never seen a Greek statue with wings," he muttered.

The statue was quiet now; no longer sobbing or speaking. He pulled her free of the mess; she was surprisingly light weight for a statue. He didn't know how a statue could be alive, but after his time with Amy and the Doctor, nothing surprised him. He stepped back, wondering how he could get her back to his house without damaging her.

"Ah! I'll be right back, I promise," he said, running back through the woods, though the wheat field. He reached his home, somewhat out of breath, but filled with excitement. He wasn't alone anymore. He grabbed his wheel barrow, tipping it to the side to knock all the wood out of it. He went off into the field again, back through the woods, back towards his new friend; the Goddess Statue.

He came back to the old tree and cliff, came back to see her waiting there for him. His brow furrowed; had she been reaching out towards him before? He could have sworn both her arms had been at her side. Her expression, too, was a little different. She was still sad, still resigned, but her eyes seemed a little wider, her lips a little more parted.

"Must have been this way before," he dismissed. It took some doing, but he got her into the barrow at last. "I'll clean you up when we get to my house," he told the Goddess. "I heard you calling for help. You sounded so sad. Same as me. Alone. I'm glad I found you."

He spoke to the Goddess the whole way home. It didn't bother him that she didn't reply. She had been alone for a very, very long time. Perhaps she was scared, or shy. He would have to show her he meant no harm.

It took most of the day to get her home. She was lighter than most stone statues, but still heavy none the less. He got her there before sunset – plenty of time to wash the dirt and moss from her. He sat her up in the middle of his garden, where Amy Pond had once sat surrounded by sunflowers. "Amy sent you to me," he told the Goddess as he retrieved his paint cleaning supplies. He hoped they would work on her. He turned around again and froze.

Her arm was down again. Her face...her face wasn't so sad now. She looked...curious. "You're moving!" he announced, moving closer to her. His hands trembled with excitement. "You can move. I didn't imagine it. Oh this is wonderful! Can you move again? Please?"

The statue was quiet and still. Vincent smiled a bit. "I understand. You're shy." He dipped a cloth in the cleaner and began to wipe her down, pulling bits of vines and grasses from her as he went. "I will wait til you wish to speak again, or better still, to move for me. I shall talk to you until you understand I shan't hurt you."

Vincent went to bed happy that night. The gun was in his jacket again, forgotten. He had a friend now; someone to keep company with. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Vincent woke early. He pulled his clothes on quickly and ran to his garden. His stomach plummeted; the statue was gone. Was it a dream? His body hurt from moving her, so surely it had been real. Had she left in the night? Vincent's shoulders drooped. He turned back towards his house, utterly heart broken.

He shouted in surprise, turning right around to find her behind him. She was standing not two feet from him, in the doorway of his home. She was looking into the house, through the door he had just come from. Her hand was on the door jamb, her head peeking inside. Vincent licked his lips. She wanted to explore his home, but was too shy to move when he was looking. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited. When he opened them again, she was inside. She was in his kitchen, holding one of his cups, examining it.

Vincent was thrilled. He walked inside, smiling brightly at her. "Do you eat?" he asked, not really expecting a reply. "I'm about to make some breakfast." He went about gathering up some bread and cheese, and poured himself a glass of cool water. When he turned around, he froze.

The statue had set the table for him. There was a plate, with a knife and fork at the ready. She was standing on the other side of the table, looking at the place setting expectantly. Vincent's face split into a grin.

He really wasn't alone anymore. "Do you have a name?" he asked, sitting down across from her. He cut the bread and some cheese and ate it with relish. Even the food tasted better now that he had company. He drank his water, and smiled up at her. "Surely you do."

He heard it then; her gentle, far away sounding voice. "Kindness of God? That is what you are called?" he asked, his brow furrowed. He thought for a moment, his mother's language suddenly filling his ears. His eyes lit up and he smiled at her. "Jantine. It means God is Forgiving. I shall call you Jantine, if you would like." He grinned at her reply. "Jantine. My friend."

In the space of a blink, her expression changed. From mild, gentle curiosity to utter surprise. Her lips were parted, eyes very wide. Her hands, too, had raised a bit. Vincent closed his eyes, and shivered when he felt the cold stone of her touch on his cheek. When he opened them again, she was smiling, her hand over her heart. Vincent smiled back.

They went about like that for months. When he would return from an outing, she would be there, a place set out for him at the table. She would listen to him speak, and shyly reply. He told no one of his statue friend – the townsfolk already thought him mad. It was coming on the end of July now, and Vincent had never been happier. He didn't even have time to keep his diaries. He painted, with Jantine by his side, and spoke to her until his voice would give out. He spoke at length about the Doctor, and of course, Amy. He knew he was wistful and horribly in love with his red-haired friend, and often apologized for waxing poetic about her. Jantine didn't mind.

Every day her voice grew stronger. It was as though his friendship was giving her strength. It was the 27th of July, and Vincent's life was as close to complete as it had ever been.

He woke that day to find it sunny and bright. Jantine was outside, a bouquet of pretty wild flowers in her hand, posed below her nose. He smiled, and sniffed the flowers with her.

He startled. Jantine was speaking to him without his prompting. "A gift? What kind of gift?" he replied, his brow furrowed. He blinked, and the flowers were in his hand. Jantine's hands were on either side of his face. He felt warm all over, his eyes fluttering closed. He took a deep breath, gasping in pure pleasure as a familiar, sweet scent touched him. "Amy..." he sighed, surrounded by her presence; like a warm hug from his dearest friend. He felt Jantine's cold, stone arms slip down around him, embracing him gently. Visions of Amy, her flaming hair, her happy smile, her soft touch, her melodic voice...he was engulfed in all things Amy Pond.

There was a flash of light that burned through his eyelids. He cringed, clutching to Jantine. Her quiet, sweet voice told him it was all right, told him he was safe. He relaxed, still holding her, as the light fazed and grew and sped passed them.

The light snapped and was quite suddenly gone. Jantine moved away from him, her cool fingers tickling his cheek. Vincent blinked his eyes open slowly, unable to see anything but the aftershock of the light. It faded at last, leaving him somewhere other than where he started. They were in a hall, coated in dingy wallpaper, with thread-bare carpet, and dirty windows overlooking the biggest city Vincent had ever seen. He stumbled to the nearest of those dirty windows, his eyes wide as he took in the lights, the sheer size of the outside.

He looked to Jantine, wanting to ask where they had gone, when the question died in his throat. Jantine stood nearby, her stone arm pointing down one of those dingy halls, towards something. Vincent's heart was pounding. He made his way slowly to her, feeling suddenly as if this was all a fantastic dream. He stood beside her, staring a moment longer at her serene, satisfied face. He followed the length of her arm, stared down passed her pointing finger tip. At the end of that dark, flickering hallway, was a door. He walked down that threadbare carpet, breathing deeply, his heart hammering in his ears. There was a paper, with two names on it, beside the old wooden door. R. Williams, A. Williams. Vincent blinked, his hand raising without conscious thought.

He knocked three times, and waited, feeling Jantine's stone stare from her place down the hall. He looked over his shoulder, saw her there. Her arms were at her side again, her face beautiful with a small smile. The door began to open and he turned to face it.

There was a young man there – no more than thirty or so. He was looking curiously at Vincent, a polite smile on his face. "Can I help you?" asked the man, his English accent pleasant.

Vincent opened his mouth, but found he didn't know what to say. The young man's eyes flickered over his shoulder, his face suddenly going pale. The man acted quickly, grabbing Vincent's shoulders, dragging him into the room. Vincent stumbled, falling to his knees at the young man's side. The door was slammed, and Vincent's heart stopped. "AMY!" the young man yelled, pushing a nearby table in front of the door. "Amy! We have trouble!"

And there she was, coming quickly out of another room. She was just as he remembered; just as beautiful, just as vibrant. "Amy," he whispered, rising up to his knees.

"Vincent?" she gasped, her eyes wide.

"You know him?" the young man asked, his voice strained. "Wait, not important. Amy, there's an Angel out there!"

Amy's eyes widened more, her lower lip trembling. "They're supposed to leave us alone. We're here. They're supposed to leave us alone now," she whispered.

"Amy," Vincent said, lifting his hands as he rose. "Please don't be scared. Jantine won't hurt anyone. She's a friend."

"Jantine? That..._thing_ has a name?" the fellow asked, incredulous.

"I found her, covered in vines and dirt. She was in the woods," Vincent said quickly. "I brought her home and cleaned her up. She's been my companion, my friend for months. She wanted to give me a gift. She brought me to you, Amy."

"Oh Vincent," Amy sighed, walking to him. She took his face into her hands, pressed her forehead against his. "You're so innocent. You don't know what they are, what they do."

"Jantine isn't evil, I promise," Vincent whispered, the feeling of her nearness making him dizzy with joy.

"Amy, will you please explain what's happening?" the fellow sighed, leaning against the table. He no longer seemed afraid, but frustrated.

"Rory, this is my friend, Vincent Van Gogh. Vincent, this is Rory Williams...my husband," Amy said, smiling a bit as she looked between them.

Vincent's stomach dropped. Oh he knew she would find someone, but it hurt none the less. Vincent forced a smile, offering his hand to Rory, who took it. The young man had a good grip, and a friendly face. "Pleasure to meet you at last, Vincent," Rory said, smiling a bit more. "Amy's told me so much about you."

There was a timid, slow knock at the door. Rory and Amy both stiffened, both looked terrified. Vincent heard her voice from the other side of the door. "Jantine, they're afraid of you," he said in reply, leaning over the table and against the door. He sighed, looking over at Amy's pale, terrified face. "She understands why you're scared. Some of her kind hurt you both badly. Jantine isn't like that. She wants to prove to you that she isn't dangerous."

Amy and Rory shared a terrified, slow look.

Jantine whispered to him through the door again. Vincent closed his eyes, and relayed her message; "She says she will come back when you are sure she isn't a danger. She says she will do whatever you need to prove she is an innocent."

"An innocent Angel," Rory scoffed, peaking through a small hole in the door. "It's gone."

"She left," Vincent corrected, feeling protective of his stone friend.

"Vincent, you don't understand," Amy said, looking ever so sad and lost. "Rory and I, we're stuck here because of the Angels. We can't leave Manhattan. We can't ever see the Doctor, or our daughter, ever again."

Vincent looked at their sad, solemn faces, and his heart broke.


	2. Chapter 2

_1940 July 27th_

_Manhattan, New York_

Vincent sat at the scrubbed wood table, a cup of warm coffee in his hands. He looked around the pleasant; if not slightly worn; kitchen, watching Amy as she stirred a pot of soup on the stove. The walls were a faded but clean blue, with little white flowers on the print. The curtains covering the small window were a darker blue, with larger white flowers on it. There was a brass pot full of sunflowers on the counter; he had to smile at that. Rory was in the living room opening the windows to bring in some fresh air. The noises of the city outside was totally foreign; loud and metallic and somehow very wonderful to Vincent's ears.

"So tell us about the Angel," Amy said, setting her spoon aside to come sit across from him. Rory joined them moments later, taking his wife's hand in a casual, natural way. Vincent felt the now familiar pang of loss, his eyes drawn to their joined fingers. He was so happy to see Amy happy, yet the ache was terrible.

He cleared his throat, and looked into her beautiful face. "I was so alone after you and the Doctor left me, Amy," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I tried to go on, to live as I knew you wanted me to, but it was so hard. I missed your face – both of you – your voices. I had no one to laugh with, no one to cry with. I...I was going to do something...stupid," he admitted, his cheeks ruddy with blush. He was horrified to see tears in Amy's eyes. "Oh no, please don't cry," he said, reaching across the table to brush the tears from her face.

Amy released Rory's hand to take his. She kissed his palm and more tears fell from her eyes.

"I didn't do it," he said swiftly. "I was going to. I went to a wheat field – it was beautiful. I imagined you and the Doctor with me. Then...then I heard her. She was calling for help. She was so alone. She had been alone for so long. I found her in the woods. I brought her home. She...Jantine puts out my mug and plate every day. She opens the windows and lets in the air. She sings to me at night when I wake up frightened or confused. It's been months of this – her at my side, my only friend. She isn't evil. I can hear her voice, I can feel her soul. She isn't like the ones that hurt you, I promise you that."

Amy was looking right into his eyes, her warm hand still over his. "You really believe that, don't you? That you've found the one good Angel amongst all the bad."

"No people are all good or all bad," Vincent said passionately. "Surely if there are good people on this world, there must be good Angels too."

"Sounds like something the Doctor would say," Rory mused. Vincent felt another flush – one of guilt. He had forgotten her husband was even there – had forgotten he existed. It was...it was a terrible thing he felt. This love for another man's wife.

"Do you think its possible?" Amy asked, looking from Vincent to Rory.

Rory's brow was creased, his eyes dark. "I want to believe it. I want to believe that there is good every where. But it feels naïve. I just don't know."

"Please, just give her a chance," Vincent said, looking between them desperately. "She will leave if you chose. Just...just let her explain."

Amy and Rory sat silent, looking at each other. They tilted their heads, raised their eyebrows. They were having a silent conversation – something so beautiful and wonderful that it made Vincent feel rather small and silly beside them. Something passed between them; an understanding that made the room feel electric and alive. "All right. She can come in," Rory said softly. They closed their eyes and Vincent rose. He walked to the hall, passed the rows of black and white photos of Amy and Rory together at various places in the city, and opened the front door. Jantine was there, her lovely face caught in an expression of anxious worry. He stepped aside and closed his eyes. He heard her soft footfalls, felt her fingers as she passed him by.

He opened his eyes as soon as he was sure she had reached the kitchen. He closed the door and followed, stopping beside her. She was at the table, reaching out towards Amy; she had a few strands of Amy's hair in her hand. Amy's eyes were wide open, staring in terror up at Jantine.

"She's just curious," Vincent assured, lifting his hands. "I've told her so much about you. She says your hair is even redder than mine," he gave Amy a small smile, but Amy was still staring at Jantine in fear. "She says she knows you're afraid of her. She understands that you are staring so she won't move. But if we close our eyes, she will move away from you. She just thinks your hair is lovely, that's all."

"I'm scared," Amy admitted. Rory was grabbing her hand, staring at Jantine with an almost hatred.

"Jantine is so sorry she scared you," Vincent told her, moving closer. "She –" he froze, his eyes wide.

Jantine...was moving. Slowly, ever so slowly, her expression shifting from curiosity to intense concentration. Her body groaned; a slow sound that made him shiver. It took ages, but her hand was moving. Slowly, sluggishly, shifting away from Amy's hair. She released Amy's hair, letting it fall back into place. Amy's fear filled face slowly changed; a look of awe and wonder replacing it instead.

"They never move when you look," Rory said softly.

"Instinct makes them freeze, makes them stone," Amy said, staring searchingly up at Jantine.

Vincent blinked tears from his eyes. Jantine was speaking impassionedly, her words ringing louder than ever before in his ears. "It is my people's defense," he translated, "to become still as stone when we are being looked at. We are venerable when we move. If you had a gun and shot me as I moved, I would die," she told him, her hand coming at last to lay over her heart. She blinked, moving a bit faster now. Her eyes were shining with a silver liquid, that ran thick as blood down her cheeks. "If you were to stab me here," she patted her heart slowly, "I would die. Crush me, and I would die. I give this to you, the gift of my vulnerability, to put you at ease. I am here to help; to perhaps ease the pain my kind have caused you, Amelia and Rory Pond."

Rory groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Even the Angels call me Pond," he muttered.

Amy stood slowly, standing face to face with Jantine. "You really are different, aren't you?" she asked softly, searching Jantine's face. "Are those your tears?"

"Yes and yes," Jantine told him. "I am different. What can I do to ease the pain we have caused you? What can I do to bring happiness to Vincent Van Gogh's friends? My friends?"

Amy and Rory looked at each other that special way again. Vincent smiled, knowing immediately what they wanted. "Bring the Doctor here, correct?" Vincent asked, smiling larger when they smiled in reply.

"And Melody," Amy added. "If you can."

Jantine nodded, reaching out to Vincent.

"We'll be back," Vincent said, grabbing her hand.

**Never Travel Alone**

**Chapter Two**

**The Innocent Angel**

The Doctor froze, his eyes wide, the sonic lit and held high before him. The Angel was there, looking so unassuming and statue-like. Beside her was Vincent, his face split into a wide, happy smile. Before he could speak, the Doctor found himself being squeezed near to death by a laughing, happy Vincent.

"Let go, Vincent! There's an –"

"Angel, I know," Vincent said with another laugh. "Don't worry about Jantine. She brought me to you! I've seen Amy and Rory. I'm here to bring you along to them."

The Doctor's head spun. He looked back at the Angel and froze. She was moving, right in front of him, slowly, painstakingly examining his TARDIS. She was tilting her head, peering curiously at a panel showing a far away Galaxy. She looked over her shoulder and caught him staring and actually _smiled_ at him. An Angel, _moving_ while he was looking, and _smiling_ at him. He pulled away from Vincent and made his way slowly, carefully towards her. He scanned her with the sonic, her head moving to follow the light. She reached out with her stone fingers and touched the end of it, pulling her finger back to look at it.

"She thinks its pretty, the blue light," Vincent said by way of translation. The Angel looked over at Vincent and something softened in her expression. The Doctor blinked and the look was gone, replaced with a polite smile.

"You're...really not going to try and eat me, are you?" he asked, lowering his arm.

"She doesn't eat sentient creatures," Vincent said.

The Doctor shook his head, something suddenly sticking out at him. He spun around, turning his back to the Angel, and stared at Vincent. "Did you...say you saw Amy and Rory?"

"Yes, we're here to bring you to them. They want to see you."

"That's...not possible," he said, his throat suddenly dry. "They're in a fixed point in time. No one can travel where they are."

The Doctor startled, feeling cold stone fingers gently cup his wrist. He looked down, where the Angel's hand was holding his. He looked into her face, finding a gentle look of understanding on her face. "What did you say her name is?" he asked, looking back at Vincent.

Vincent smiled softly, looking at the Angel with affection. "Jantine. I call her Jantine."

He looked back at Jantine, examining her face. She was...different looking than the others. "You look Greek, not Angelic at all, other than the wings. Are you a Weeping Angel, Jantine? Or something else?"

Jantine squeezed his wrist ever so gently, his eyes drawn to her blank, stone eyes. He watched as drops of silver fell from them, one of those drops splashing on his skin.

The world went all wobbly, Jantine's stone face going in and out of focus. The sounds of the TARDIS became louder, then suddenly softer. The Doctor's eyes fluttered closed and he was falling.

When he finally fell, he landed on a soft earth patch, covered in dried, fall leaves. He opened his eyes, finding a single white flower poking up from the leaves. He blinked, sighing as he sat up. He cried out, finding himself surrounded by Angels. They seemed not to see him, or hear him. He looked left, then right, and up to find Jantine beside him, watching the other Angels with a look of resigned misery on her face.

"You wanted to know if I am a Weeping Angel," Jantine said, her lips not moving as she spoke. He heard her in his mind, the way Vincent could hear her. Her voice was androgynous; soft as a whisper and gentle as a sigh. "Here is your answer. Here, you shall see my history. Hear the voices of the Angels."

The Doctor rose, staring at the group of Angels. They were surrounding something, encircling it. The Doctor moved between them, shifting them left and right. They paid him no mind, their angry voices hurting his ears as they hissed insults and vitriol at the being at the center of their attention.

It was other Angels, all of them looking Greek, like Jantine. They were cowering, all holding each other, clinging desperately to each other as the other, Biblical Angels, swarmed in on them.

"Shame!" he heard some of the Biblical Angels hiss. "Shameful creatures! Heresy! Madness!"

"Kill them! Kill the heretics!"

"No, please!" one of the Greek Angels said. "We aren't heretics. We're just different! We just want to be at peace!"

"Different! Different is not acceptable," one of the Biblical's snarled. "Madness will spread. Kill the madness!"

The Greek Angels wept, silver tears falling down their faces. The Doctor watched in horror as the Biblical's surged forward, their arms high as they tore at them. Bits of stone flew – a wing, a chunk of hair, a Greek's face.

He shook all over, tears pricking his eyes as they moved back. The Greeks were all dead, laid out in bits and pieces of awful.

Jantine was beside him again, staring down at them. She looked from them to her left. The Doctor followed her gaze, sucking in a breath.

Jantine was there, in the memory. She was trapped, stuck in a cage of metal. She was reaching out towards the dead, screaming in agony. She was clawing at the Earth, shaking the bars, throwing herself against them.

He stepped closer. She wasn't screaming anymore. She was speaking softly, sobbing pitifully. "Mama, mama," she was saying wiping her face. She didn't even look at the other Angels, staring only at the sad, broken face of the Greek Angel broken nearest to her.

"You are the last," one of the Biblical Angels said in disgust. "The last of the Heretic Angels. We shall banish you, send you away to some little, no good planet we shall never travel to. You will languish there, where not even the people of that little cesspool shall find you. Isolated. You, Kindness of God, shall bare the punishment of all your kind."

Jantine did not respond. She just kept looking at the broken Angel.

"Send her away," the Angels chorused, and in a flash, she was gone. The Doctor blinked, and they were back on the TARDIS. He lay on the floor, Vincent crouched worriedly beside him. Jantine was away from them, looking up at the display of the galaxy again. Her face was tracked with silver tears, and she was reaching out to trace the stars.

"Why did they kill your kind?" the Doctor asked, his voice thick with tears. He rose up, making his way on shaking legs towards her.

She lowered her hand, then turned and looked at him. _We did not wish to kill anymore,_ her voice rang out in his head. _You can hear me, now, because you have a part of me inside you. My tear has connected us, for a little while at least. My family, called the Heretic Angels, wished to live at peace with the universe. We found we could survive and thrive off the lives of lower functioning beings. We had no need to devour the souls of those who could truly think and feel as we do. We are predators, but not monsters. The others saw this as weakness, as madness. They killed my whole family because of our beliefs. I am the last of my kind. Like you, Doctor._

"Like me," he repeated, blinking tears from his eyes. "Take me to Amy and Rory."

The Angel smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

Amelia Williams couldn't sit down. Vincent and the Angel, Jantine, had been gone only an hour, but it seemed like days had passed since. She closed her eyes and took a breath, busying herself with making some custard. She had breaded some strips of fish – the closest things to fish fingers she had – and they were baking in the oven as she went. The custard was almost ready. She smiled softly to herself, and glanced at the bowl of red apples beside her. She had carved faces into them all.

Rory was sweeping the hall. He was just as nervous as she, just as happy. She was filled with warmth, glancing over her shoulder to see her husband fluttering quickly around, straightening up the coffee table – again.

Amy closed her eyes, the memory of her Doctor smiled at her. She remembered the way his eyebrows would arch, the way the left corner of his lips rose just a little higher than the right. He smelt like cinnamon and warm toast and his skin tasted like butterscotch when she kissed his cheek.

His lips tasted like vanilla, though she'd only kissed him once. Thinking about it, even now, sent her heart racing. She blushed, and went back to her custard.

She couldn't wait to hear about his adventures since. Surely he had gone to new worlds – met new people. Perhaps had already had new companions – she would love to meet them. And River – maybe River was his companion. The thought of seeing her daughter again after so much time made Amy's heart soar with joy.

She felt it even before she heard it. The air was charged with electricity – the hair on her arms and neck rose, her lungs filled with a heavy air that made her blood sing. She spun around, meeting Rory's wide eyes – he felt it too.

Out in the hall, the familiar moan and whirl of the TARDIS sounded. Amy sprinted to the door, Rory on her heels. She threw it open, her face split in a grin as the beloved blue box she had dreamt of so many nights flickered in and out of existence, finally settling just outside her floor mat. She waited, trembling with hope, as the door came open.

He looked almost just as she remembered. His hair was a bit longer, and he looked a bit thinner, but there he was – beautiful and real. "Doctor," she whispered, drinking in the sight of his tussled hair, his high cheek bones, piercing eyes, and hopeful, needing look on his beloved face.

"Amelia Pond. The Girl Who Waited," he said breathlessly, swallowing hard. He stepped out of the TARDIS, his hands shaking as he lifted them to frame her face. "You haven't changed a bit."

She laughed softly, her eyes burning with tears. She threw her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek as she dragged him to her. She leaned back, drinking in the sight of him. "What happened to your bow-tie?" she asked through her tears, touching the collar of his shirt.

His eyes – those beautiful, expressive eyes – were filled with such sadness, it broke her heart to look at him. "I dunno," he said thickly, "bow-ties just weren't cool anymore. Rory the Roman!" the Doctor called out, breaking from her arms to embrace her husband. Amy felt bereft a moment, tears stinging at her eyes. Vincent and Jantine appeared, wandering out of the TARDIS. Amy pushed away the pain until later, and embraced Vincent, and kissed Jantine's cheek.

"Thank you both," she said, smiling.

Vincent looked pleased as punch, while Jantine looked surprised. She touched her cheek, and smiled a bit.

"Is that...fish fingers and custard I smell?" the Doctor asked hopefully.

Amy threw back her head and laughed, the sadness forgotten for the time being. Her family was home.

**Never Travel Alone**

**Chapter Three**

**To Meet Again**

The Doctor sat on the Pond's comfortable couch, Amy tucked safely into his shoulder. He couldn't stop touching her; her hair, her face, her hand, her knee. She was warm and alive and where he could touch her again.

"So you're a Doctor here, Rory?" he confirmed, smiling when Rory nodded. "And you're a typist at a book publishing company, Amy?"

"Yup," Amelia quipped happily. "Rory is a very good Doctor. We're doing very well for ourselves."

The Doctor looked skeptically around the old room, with its faded paper and ratty furniture.

Amelia's face flushed. "Well, doing better than we were when we got here. We're saving up for a nicer place."

The Doctor grinned and kissed her cheek. It was all so wonderful, being with his Pond's again. He looked up, smiled at Vincent's happy face. He was standing at the door, Jantine at his side. She was holding his hand, smiling peacefully at them all. An idea was ticking at the back of the Doctor's mind – he was quite sure Jantine fancied Vincent. He smiled a secret sort of smile and ran a hand through Amelia's hair. He smelt the strands, smiling contentedly at the familiar warmth of cherry filled his nose.

Amelia looked up at him, curious. He grinned and kissed her nose, winking at Rory. "Sorry, forgot to ask permission."

"I'll let it slide today," Rory laughed, shaking his head as he rose to clear the plates of fish and custard from the coffee table.

"What about River? Can you bring Melody to me?" Amy asked, looking over at Vincent and Jantine with longing.

Jantine nodded and Vincent spoke. "She's having to rest a bit. Bringing the Doctor and the TARDIS here took a lot of her power. She says we will go to River Song tomorrow."

Amy's face lit up. Something in the Doctor shivered, thrilled with excitement at the sight of her like this. "Amelia Pond, the Magnificent," he said aloud, grinning at her when she smiled at him. He hugged her close to his side, unable to let her go.

He closed his eyes, drawing her as close to him as he could. Amelia chuckled, throwing her legs across his lap. He rubbed her knee, his arm around her shoulders. "I love you, Amelia Pond, my girl with the fairytale name," he whispered into her ear.

She looked at him in surprise, her eyes swimming with warm tears. "I love you, my Raggedy Doctor, the man with the blue box," she whispered in reply. "I miss your bow-tie," she confided. She kissed his cheek, and he kissed hers, and for a moment, the world fell away.

"Anyone need more tea?" Rory called from the kitchen, and the moment broke. The Doctor smiled a bit stiffly, and looked up towards the door. Rory appeared with kettle in hand, pouring them all a fresh cup. Vincent was looking at him curiously, but said nothing. The Doctor felt ashamed – he was glad to see Rory; really he was; but it was Amelia that set his heart at ease. He couldn't help but cling to her, be selfish for a little bit. Amy was Rory's wife, but Amelia was the Doctor's best friend.

They spoke of little things – Rory's newest oddball patient, the other typist at the publishers with the funny hair, the little boy on the next floor who was constantly losing his cat. The Doctor laughed and smiled and felt all the pain of the last few months melt away. Until, that is, he asked a most innocent question.

"So how long have you been in Manhattan, Ponds?" he asked, smiling amiably at them.

Amy and Rory shared a look and went very quiet.

"Ponds?" he prompted, a weird, sick feeling settling in his stomach.

"We arrived here in 1931. It's 1940 now," Rory said quietly, meeting the Doctor's eyes.

His brow furrowed. He looked between – looked to their familiar, unchanged faces. Unchanged. Unaged. "Nine years? But you haven't changed at all. You look exactly as you did when you came here. You're the same." The Ponds shared a look again. "Nine years?"

"Nine years," Amy repeated.

"There's more," Rory said quietly. He pulled a pocket knife from his pocket, and without looking away from the Doctor, cut his finger. The blood welled up, then sunk right back into his flesh, leaving it unblemished. The cut was gone, without a trace of the injury he had just inflicted.

The Doctor's breath hung in his throat. "That's...not possible."

Amy rose, leaving him feeling cold and a bit alone. She went to Rory, and held his hand. She looked at the Doctor with such a tired sort of sorrow it made his hearts hurt. "We aren't aging, Doctor. We aren't changing. And we can't be hurt. We noticed it pretty quickly. Rory burnt his hand on the stove the first month we were here, but the injury was gone before I could even look at it. I fell over this table one day carrying the laundry and skinned my knee. It healed before I could blot it with a towel. Little things like that."

"Then Amy was in an accident three years ago," Rory said, looking at her with such pain. "She was walking to work when a cab went out of control. It hit her dead on. I saw it all from the window. It was...horrible. I thought I lost her. Then she got up, her clothes torn and tattered, without a bruise or cut on her. A miracle, the authorities called it. After that, it became clear something is wrong with us."

"We're the same as we were when the Angel brought us here," Amy said quietly.

"But I saw – " the Doctor began, snapping his mouth shut. _Spoilers_, River's voice taunted from his memory. He thought of the tombstone, proclaiming Rory and Amy dead in their eighties.

"Angels do not age, or change," Vincent said for Jantine. The Doctor and Ponds turned to look at them. "Angels do not bleed, cannot be cut or break bones. Not unless you catch them moving. When you were brought here, the Angel left something of its self inside you."

"Will we ever age?" Amy asked.

"She doesn't know," Vincent said softly, looking sadly at his Angel companion.

The Doctor sank further into the couch, staring at the Ponds. He felt as though he had never seen them before, felt a spark of hope unlike anything he could ever imagine. "You aren't aging," he said softly, his eyes widening. His hearts were raising, he couldn't seem to get enough breath. "You aren't _dying._"

Pond caught on first. Her eyes went wide with glee, her face beautiful in its joy. "We aren't dying!" she repeated, running back to the couch and throwing herself onto his lap again. "Rory! We aren't dying!"

Rory looked confused, looking between them. "Yes, that's generally a good thing."

"Rory!" Amy groaned in exasperation. "Think about it! The Doctor lives and goes on forever, while all his companions leave. They die eventually. We aren't dying! We can go with the Doctor forever! We can travel space and time and never be alone! All three of us!"

Rory's eyes widened. He opened and closed his mouth, looking between the two of them as the reality set in. His lips tugged into a smile, his eyes lighting up. "Yeah!" he exclaimed, taking a seat beside the Doctor, taking Pond's feet into his lap. "Yeah, we could. We could just keep going now that you're here, Doctor."

The happy bubble in the Doctor's chest suddenly popped. He looked to Jantine with dread, his hearts sinking. "Maybe not," he said softly. The sad, ashamed look at Jantine's face broke him. "You can't take them from here, can you?" he asked, feeling dead inside all over again.

Vincent's expression was of pure misery, his hands coming over his face as he wept. Jantine placed a hand on his shoulder, hiding her face against her arm as she wept, too.

The Doctor clutched Amelia closer, reaching over and taking Rory's hand. Amy was crying, but trying very hard not to, while Rory stared disbelievingly ahead.

The Doctor closed his eyes, the absolute knowledge he would have to leave his Ponds again tearing his soul to shreds. "We'll just have to make the best of our visit then, shan't we?" he asked, trying to sound positive and happy.

Amy nodded, burying her head in his neck. Her wonderful, cherry scent filled him, and the Doctor vowed to memorize the feel of her in his arms, the feel of Rory the Roman's hand in his own.


	4. Chapter 4

Jantine stood atop the roof of the apartment building where Rory and Amelia Pond lived. She had her wings expanded, the dim New York sun on them. To the people below, she was just another Gothic Angel statue that littered the city.

She could sense a few others here, though most of her kind had been wiped out by the Doctor and his friends. She did not mourn them – they got just what they deserved. But she knew they felt her, too, knew they would find her eventually. They would come for her, would come to wipe out the last Heretic Angel that dared to walk the Earth.

She looked down into her hand, to the paint brush she had taken from Vincent's home. She felt warm inside, comforted by the little reminder of her first human friend.

He was downstairs, sleeping peacefully on the living room couch, the Doctor in the comfortable chair at his side. The Ponds were wrapped up in their bed, happy to be with friends again. It was worth it, Jantine decided, to see Vincent smile. To see him lit with happiness, any pain was worth.

"You love him, don't you?"

Jantine turned, her stone eyes wide as she looked towards the Doctor. He stood in the door, his hair standing up in places, wearing Rory's robe. She stepped down from the stone railing of the building and walked to him.

"You love Vincent. I've seen the way you look at him," the Doctor said softly, pulling the robe closer.

Jantine wondered at that, tilting her head. Love. It was such a human word. _What did it mean_, she wondered, _to be in love?_

"You feel like the whole world is held by that person," the Doctor said, passionately, holding his arms wide as though to embrace the sky above. "You feel like every breath of theirs is the most precious sound to ever be. You live every moment to see them smile. You're chest feels full of warmth, your skin tingles when they touch you. You think of them and only them every spare moment of every day."

Jantine's eyes widened, her hand laying over her chest. These things the Doctor spoke of, these feelings, they were her own.

_I love Vincent_, she said, smiling at the Doctor, who smiled back. _Can I love?_

"I think that's obvious, Jantine," the Doctor replied.

Jantine smiled – a real, complete smile. She reached out and took his hand, grinning happily at him.

Then she heard it. A scream – a call so familiar and horrible and terrifying it chilled her to her core. She turned, her stone eyes scanning the skyline.

There it was – a Weeping Angel. Blocks and blocks away, atop a building so far the Doctor had no hopes of seeing it.

_We've been found,_ she told him, dragging him behind her as she ran to the open door of the building.

_We've been found._

**Never Travel Alone**

**Chapter Four**

**The Flight of Angels**

It turned out Angels could run very fast. The Doctor had only ever seen Jantine move slowly, carefully, but now she nearly flew as she took each step. He struggled to keep up, stumbling a couple of times. The wooden floor below her feet groaned and cracked, no doubt breaking a little under her heavy step. She stopped at the Pond's door, opening it carefully, so as not to break the knob off, and practically pushed him inside.

Her palms were glowing, and the edge of the door shimmered and sealed. The door faded into the wall and disappeared all together.

"My TARDIS!" he called out, lunging towards where the door had been.

Jantine pointed to the living room, where, miraculously, his TARDIS now sat. Vincent was awake, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The living room window melted and sealed and the wall overtook it too. The Doctor suspected all the windows, every crack leading to the outside world had done the same.

"Doctor? Our bedroom window just vanished!" Amy said, coming out in her dressing gown, Rory at her heels.

"The Angels have found us," the Doctor cautioned, drawing them both to him. Jantine had her arms up, her palms glowing that odd pink light. "Jantine is trying to keep them out."

Vincent was at the Angel's side immediately. "Is it time?" he asked, looking at his friend in concern.

"Time?" the Doctor snapped, his eyes narrowing. "Vincent?"

_Get in the TARDIS, Doctor,_ the Doctor heard Jantine order. _Take the Ponds with you._

"But you said you can't take Amy and Rory from Manhattan," the Doctor said, that wild hope tickling his chest again.

_I lied,_ the Angel replied darkly. _Get in the TARDIS, now. _Jantine stilled, looking at Vincent with her wide, stone eyes. _Are you ready, Vincent?_

"Yes," Vincent said with conviction, a look of surprise going across his face. "Of course I am. I could never leave you, my dearest friend."

Jantine looked at the Doctor and met his eyes. He saw in them an utter, beautiful conviction. She smiled a bit, then looked at Vincent, before returning her gaze to the Doctor.

_We have an idea,_ she said. _Bring the Ponds to me, quickly._

"Come on, Ponds," the Doctor said, grabbing them and thrusting them towards her.

"What are we doing?" Amy asked, looking frightened and confused.

"No idea. Our Angel friend wants you for something."

Jantine reached out, touching Rory with one lit hand, while the other cupped Amy's cheek. Jantine's ever open, wide stone eyes, actually fell shut. The light grew, reaching out over the Ponds, up Jantine's own arms, across her shoulder, onto Vincent's hand that sat upon her back.

The Doctor blinked against it, the blinding whiteness of it stinging his eyes. He could hear the Angels outside, banging angrily on every surface, every inch of the apartment. When at last the light faded, it left the most amazing sight.

Two Amy Ponds and two Rory Williams'. They wore the same clothes, had the same confused expressions on their faces.

"What is this?" the left Amy Pond asked, staring at her duplicate in shock.

"My gift to you, Amelia Pond," the right Amy Pond said, smiling. "Go to the TARDIS. Vincent and I will be you and Rory from now on. I have all your memories, Amy Pond. I remember the Doctor falling out of the sky, I remember your wedding day, I remember Melody. The Angels won't be looking for you outside of this world, because you will still be here."

"I remember dying. I remember standing outside the Pandorica for two thousand years, protecting Amy. I remember the first time I saw you on the playground; your beautiful red hair whipping around you as you played on the swing," the left Rory said in awe. "We become them and they are free. We are you."

"Are you sure this all right with you, Vincent?" Jantine asked, looking at him worriedly. "You won't be able to return to France."

Vincent shook his head, smiling with Rory's face. "I was...I was ready to leave anyway. Perhaps I can be a painter and doctor both. Let's live here, Jantine. Let's save our friends."

The real Rory and Amy were flabbergasted. The Angels were banging and attacking outside, trying their damnest to get in.

"Go, quickly!" Jantine said, pushing them towards the TARDIS and the Doctor. "Be happy!"

"But how is this possible?" Rory was asking even as Vincent shoved him inside the blue door.

"The answer is inside the TARDIS," Jantine said, kissing Amy's cheek as she shoved her in after her husband. Jantine grabbed the Doctor's lapel, kissing him soundly on the lips. "You do taste like vanilla," she said playfully. "Go on!"

The Doctor rushed inside the TARDIS, giving his friends one last look, before slamming the door shut. The TARDIS started the moment he touched her controls, and they were catapulted into the void of Time and Space, leaving Vincent and the Angel to face Hell on their own.

Amelia threw herself at the door, tears falling down her cheek. "Vincent! Vincent, no!"

Rory embraced her, kissing her hair as she wept. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

The Doctor came to them slowly, pulling Amelia and Rory to his chest. He kissed them both and wept with them at their lose.


	5. Chapter 5

Jantine stood waiting in the middle of the room, Vincent's warm hand on her own. "I think I shall miss your red-hair," she admitted, smiling softly at him.

"I shall miss your voice," Vincent replied quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I like Amy's voice, but yours had a beauty unlike anything I have ever heard."

Jantine blushed – what a feeling that was! - and smiled shyly at him. Vincent – no Rory; she must think of him as Rory – was looking at her in wonder. "What?" she asked quietly.

"I dreamt of seeing that look on Amy's face before," Vin – Rory said, running a finger down the side of her cheek. "Somehow it's better, coming from you."

Jantine's eyes widened. She felt the blush darken her cheeks, felt her lips tingle with anticipation. V – Rory leaned down and kissed her. She was Amy Pond now, but he wasn't kissing Amy Pond. The moment their lips touched, she felt the love he held for her – for Jantine. It was a small love; a new love, but a love none the less. She smiled against his lips and embraced him.

The windows slowly swirled into focus, the door returning from the place she had banished it. The last of her powers were dying. Soon, she would be a human – just another human. She would get a cold someday, perhaps give V-Rory a child or two, and die an old woman hopefully at his side. She clung to his shoulders, looking lovingly into his eyes.

The door slowly creaked open. Rory and Amy Pond looked at it calmly, met the gaze of the angry Biblical Angels.

"They're gone now," Rory said sharply.

"They took the other Angel with them. She's gone," Amy snapped. "Now get out of our apartment."

Amy and Rory closed their eyes, and when they opened them, the door was close and the Angels were gone.

Jantine looked up into this new face that cloaked the soul of her beloved Vincent, and smiled.

"I rather think I like being human," she confided, smiling when he laughed.

**Never Travel Alone**

**Chapter Five**

**Endings are Beginnings in Reverse**

Amy sat at the doors of the TARDIS, her forehead pressed against them as she wept. She was terrified for her friends; images of the Angels sweeping in and tearing the false Rory and Amy to pieces making her feel ill. Her fingernails scraped the door, and she could barely feel Rory's hand rubbing soothing circles on her back.

"Amelia," the Doctor was saying. He was crouched beside her, his hand warm and heavy as it slid over her own. He pulled her fingers from the door, brought them to his lips, and kissed them softly. "Amelia Pond, my dearest friend. Come with me. I need to show you something."

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "They're dead. They can't have survived that."

"I believe they are alive," the Doctor whispered. "Please come. Let me show you why." She opened her eyes at last, her vision swimming with tears as she looked at the Doctor. He was smiling that soft, gentle smile from her childhood. "Trust me once again, okay, Pond?"

She let him guide her up, followed him to the console, Rory at their side. She leaned on her husband's shoulder, the warm hand of the Doctor still clutching her own. The Doctor reached out and touched a screen, where suddenly Jantine appeared, her stone face peering up at the monitor. Vincent was beside her, his hand on her shoulder.

"Darling Amelia, Rory, and our friend; the Doctor," Vincent said, clearly speaking for Jantine, "we have a plan. You will no doubt be quite angry with us for keeping this from you. We are sorry for lying when we said Jantine could not take the Pond's from Manhattan. She wasn't sure if she had enough power to do so, and could not bare to get your hopes up only to dash them. Jantine has told me of a special ability all Angels possess, but most will shun. The lives Angel's take become energy – energy enough to shift their...atoms? Is that correct?" he asked, looking to Jantine, who nodded. "And cells. Whatever those are. She is going to use this energy to change herself – to turn herself into Amy. Doctor, Amy, please do not be sad. I was prepared to die before I met Jantine. I was so alone. I am not alone anymore, and never shall be again. We will live our lives as Rory and Amelia Williams. We will be happy and healthy and perhaps live until a great age." Vincent smiled at the camera, his hand squeezing Jantine's shoulder. "Jantine is grieved at what her people have done to you, Amy and Rory. She wishes to make amends."

Vincent paused, seeming to listen to something the Angel was saying. "Jantine wants you to know how grateful she is. She appreciates the trust you have put in her; the way you put aside your fears and embraced her will forever be in her heart. She is glad to help rectify your pain, and send you on your quest at the Doctor's side. He must never travel alone, she says, for he will lose himself to his grief without you. She thanks you for your kindness, and is proud to be able to free you. If this does not work, we shall die together, and you shall have to find another way to escape the Angels. Please, be happy, our friends. We are."

The image went black, leaving an after image of their smiling faces on her eyes. Amy wept, the tears cold on her cheek. The Doctor stepped between her and the monitor, smiling a bit. She reached out with trembling fingers, touched the material of his familiar, finally replaced bow-tie, and laughed through her tears. Rory embraced her, the Doctor's smile warm in her heart. "My boys," she whispered, leaning into them both. "My boys."

* * *

Epilogue:

Amelia Williams was eighty-seven years old, counting down the last beat of her old, happy heart. She sat at her writing desk, her penned scratching the last words to be delivered to her dearest friend. Behind her stood her daughter; River Song's hand warm and heavy on her shoulder.

Amelia smiled, passing the finished letter to her daughter. She closed her eyes and felt the tears trickle when River kissed her cheek. She bade her child good bye and rose onto old, tired legs. River was gone before she finished standing. She walked to her bedroom, lifting her picture of her beloved husband, Rory, to give him a kiss. He had been gone five years now – five years without him had been forever. She could feel him there, waiting. By her estimate, she had three minutes left of heart beats.

She wandered to her bed and lay down, her beloved picture resting on her chest. She sighed, smiling as she stared up at the cracks in the ceiling. Manhattan had been good to them, she decided. It had given them new life. It pleased her to know the Doctor was still out there, running amok with her counter part and Rory's counter part.

Amelia Williams smiled, imaging the mess they were no doubt into at that very moment.

She looked at her hand – withered and old; flesh and full of blood. Once-Upon-A-Time, that hand had been made of stone. Amelia Williams had been a Weeping Angel – the most terrifying predator in all of the Universe. Then came along Rory. Vincent. Her beloved painter. Rory to the world, but still Vincent in her heart.

She had been Amelia Williams for sixty years now, and it every moment had been a wonder. But once, Amelia had been called Jantine, and in her heart, she was still Jantine. Jantine had loved Vincent Van Gogh so much, she had decided to suffer the pain of humanity to become his bride.

She had been right, all those years ago. It had been worth every ounce of pain to be at his side.

Jantine smiled, and awoke to find Vincent waiting for her, his arms outstretched and face glowing with joy.

* * *

Thank you for reading what is probably my shortest multichapter story ever. Lol. I appreciate it ever so much. I tried to pace it like an episode of Doctor Who, and I truly hope I have entertained you.

Love Always,

Echo the Insane


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